Hermione Granger's Diary: Year 2
by HermioneWriter
Summary: Hello! I'm Hermione Granger. A year ago, I found out I was a witch and began attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I got fantastic grades and helped save the entire wizarding world with my best friends Harry Potter and Ron Weasley. Now I'm going back to school and hope that this year is a little quieter than last. Sequel to Hermione Granger's Diary: Year 1.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Hello again and happy holidays! As promised, here is Chapter 1 of Hermione's second year at Hogwarts! I have an inkling that this will be a slightly shorter book, but fun all the same. I have plans to post chapters at least once a month, but if I start running out of material at any point, I may hold back. If you haven't yet read my version of events during Hermione and the gang's first year, you can begin Hermione Granger's Diary: Year One by clicking the link. As always, please feel free to review, favorite, and follow to your heart's content. If I'm doing something wrong, I'll do my best to fix it and if I'm doing something right, fantastic. JK Rowling owns most of the characters in this story, and this is a tribute to her._

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 **18 June - 24 June 1992**

18 June 1992: Thursday

7:15 am

It feels strange, waking up in my pristine Muggle bedroom, not surrounded by scarlet curtains, stone walls, and Lavender's snores. Sometimes I have a thought, something profound or funny about the magical world, and want to share it when Harry or Ron, but I can't. I know we'll see each other again soon-September really isn't that far away. I just wish it were sooner rather than later.

7:19 pm

Samantha has been over every day since I've come home. It's been quite fun–I didn't realise how much I missed her. She sits on my bed, listening to me as I read aloud from my diary about my adventures at Hogwarts. Of course, she's heard all the awful things I wrote about her now, but she seems fine with it.

'I was being a bitch then anyway,' she said. I gasped–I've never known Samantha to swear. Her eyes bulged, as though she suddenly realised what she'd done and quickly said, 'Sorry. My friend Michelle is a little vulgar and I must have picked some of her language up.'

'Er…that's fine,' I replied.

Today I read Harry's first Quidditch match to her. Of course, she already knows all about me setting Snape's robes on fire, but it didn't stop her from shaking her head in awe. 'I still can't believe you did that.'

'Neither can I, really.'

'Still, he _was_ going to kill Harry, so I don't blame you.'

I still haven't told Samantha about what happened at the end of the year. This might sound strange, but I'm saving it for dramatic effect. She's different than Harry and Ron, you know. She's not part of this world, so it will be an even bigger shock when she learns what happened in the third floor corridor.

Mum and Dad have been a little distant with me since coming home. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall wrote to them about my detention in my last week of classes. 'Hermione Jean Granger!' Mum said as soon as we walked away from the Weasleys at King's Cross. I winced–undoubtedly she'd heard all about our little adventure and I was about to be reprimanded big time.

'How on earth could you possibly get detention?!' she hissed as we wended out way through the crowds and out into the car park. 'And you lied to a poor boy in your year! Don't even think about lying to me about it–Professor McGonagall told us everything!'

So I didn't lie. In fact, I even told them about Hagrid and Norbert. 'A dragon?' Dad asked. 'How could he hide a dragon without the headmaster realising?'

'Well, it was a baby-' I began.

'That's not the important part! How could he ask two first years to get rid of it for him?' Mum was wearing that look on her face that said quite plainly what she thought of Hagrid. My heart sank. The last thing I wanted was for my parents to hate one of my friends.

'Hagrid's a wonderful man, Mum. He was just really attached to Norbert and we kind of had to force it away from him. It was our own fault we got in trouble, really.'

'So you didn't lie to this Neville then?' Dad asked, turning onto our street.

'Of course not! He's one of my friends!'

That put a rest to it. Dad's been pretty good, although he did ground me for being disobedient and not telling a teacher about Hagrid's dangerous hobby. Mum, on the other hand, seems more irritable than usual. I guess she's just disappointed. I've never been punished for anything before and as far as I know neither has she. She'll get over it, I think.

The good news is that I think Professor McGonagall kept silent about Harry, Ron, and I venturing into the third floor corridor and down the trapdoor. I'm not sure why, but I am curious to find out. Perhaps I'll write to her and ask.

23 June 1992: Tuesday

I received my first letter from Ron on Saturday. He sent it with a positively ancient bird who acted like it was on the verge of death as it collapsed on my windowsill. 'You poor thing,' I said, pulling it inside and laying it on top of one of my pillows. I've allowed it to rest for the last two days, but today I'm sending it off with my reply, my first letter to Harry, and a note for Professor McGonagall. I do hope that it survives the journey.

I've decided to write what Ron wrote to me here:

 _Hermione,_

 _How's your holiday going? Mine's been dull. Percy's acting even more full of himself than usual and avoiding us all. Fred and George reckon that's a good thing…at least now we don't have to hear him talk about his O.W.L. results incessantly._

 _My little sister Ginny is nervously waiting her Hogwarts letter. I already know she'll be getting in. She already has more talent than I do (I remember one time when we were little and Fred stole her toy and held it out of reach. Out of nowhere, Fred's nose hair started rapidly growing. It was hilarious). I think you'll like Ginny. She's all right._

 _Hopefully you're having fun with your Muggle friend._

 _Ron._

Of course, I can't imagine taking my O.W.L.s and not being worried about the result. Poor Percy–he must be worried, but I know he'll have done brilliant. I wrote back:

 _Dear Ron,_

 _So far my holiday's been very relaxed. Mum and Dad have plans for next weekend to take me to the London Zoo. I know you've never been there, so I'll be sure to describe it as best as I can. I've spent every day with my friend Samantha, reading to her out of my diary about last school year. She's thrilled with our adventures and I think eager to meet you and Harry someday._

 _Which reminds me, we should schedule to meet at some point this summer. I know there's only two months until we're back at school together, but already I'm becoming stir crazy. I miss you and Harry both, as sentimental as that may sound. I don't have any older brothers or a little sister to spend every waking moment. Just Samantha, and she has to lie to her parents about where she's going every day, because they don't like me. I suppose she intends to introduce me to her friends she made at Muggle school this year, but it's not the same. They'll never know about the wizarding world or understand what I'm going through like you._

 _Anyway, just be sure to let me know when your family plans to visit Diagon Alley. We can make a day of it (and, perhaps, I'll show you some Muggle shops nearby)._

 _Let me know more next letter._

 _Hermione._

And, my letter to Harry:

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Have you heard from Ron? He wrote to me to talk about Fred, George, Percy, and his little sister Ginny. It sounds like he's bored._

 _Truthfully, I'm rather bored myself. I'm having fun with my friend Samatha, but I miss you and Ron. I can't wait until 1 September. I think I might arrange to meet the Weasleys when they buy their school things in Diagon Alley. Do you think we should try to get your family involved in this too? What is your phone number? Maybe if they're approached in a Muggle fashion, they'll be more willing to let you out for a day?_

 _I do hope they're treating you well. Write to me soon and let me know how your cousin, Aunt, and Uncle are behaving. If you need anything, I'm just an owl away._

 _Hermione._

And, of course, I did write a letter to Professor McGonagall. I've had so many quiet nights in a row now that my curiosity on why my parents never learned about the Philosopher's Stone has piqued. Here's my brief letter:

 _Dear Professor McGonagall,_

 _I hope your summer has been going well so far. Mine has been excellent and I'm enjoying the relative peace and quiet of Wandsworth. I am writing, because I have a couple of questions regarding the upcoming term beginning 1 September and thought it would be best to pose them to you._

 _Firstly, when might I expect a letter detailing course books and equipment? I'm eager to know what to expect next term and to get a head start on reading my books. I'm also hoping to schedule to meet up with my friends in Diagon Alley when I go to buy my equipment, and it would be nice to know which date to plan around._

 _Secondly, is there any way you can tell me who will be replacing Professor Quirrell as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? I understand it might be a secret or that a new professor has not been selected and therefore you can't give me an answer. I am merely curious and hopeful that this next teacher is not being manipulated._

 _And finally, I've noticed that my parents, while well aware that I received a detention, do not seem aware of what happened regarding the Philosopher's Stone. I do not necessarily wish to get in trouble for doing something dangerous, but it just struck me as strange that they were not told. Why did you not write to them about it?_

 _Also, I want you to personally know from me that Harry and I never set out to deceive Neville. This has been weighing heavily on my mind for a while now, because Neville is one of our friends and we all really like him. Unfortunately, he just got mixed up in our adventure. I hope you don't think Harry, Ron, or I would ever intentionally hurt him._

 _I hope you have a great summer and I'm looking forward to seeing you on 1 September._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Hermione Granger._

Okay, so perhaps it wasn't all that brief. I'm a little worried about sending this letter with Ron's owl. Maybe I should get an owl, just so I don't have to rely on this one. Hopefully Harry writes soon so I can write longer letters to send with Hedwig.

24 June 1992: Wednesday

9:02 am

Mum and Dad just left for work. I'm excited about my time with Samantha today. I'm going to read about going into the third floor corridor a few weeks ago. I'm eager to finish reading about it, because I want to hear her opinions about Professor Snape and Quirrell. Also, I want to see how she'll react when she hears I faced a troll yet again, talked chess pieces into letting me pass, flew Ron through a sea of keys, dodged the Devil's Snare, and Fluffy all over again. It's by far the most thrilling experience I've ever had.

Of course, I'd rather not repeat it again this year. Since Nicholas Flamel and Dumbledore agreed to destroy the Philosopher's Stone, I doubt there will be anything to guard in the school. I wonder what will happen to Fluffy now that he's not going to be used in the third corridor. And will we start having classes there? Hmm…perhaps I should have put that in my letter to Professor McGonagall.

1:59 pm

'Wait, wait, wait, WAIT!' Samantha begged. She'd become so enthralled with the entire story that she was now pacing up and down my bedroom, her brown eyes wide and her already frizzy black hair made even more unruly from her gripping it tight. 'So, you both just left Ron there? After he'd been bashed in the head by a gigantic stone statue?'

'Well, yes,' I said, biting my lip, 'but we did check to make sure he was breathing first.'

'Remind me to never go on any adventures with you and your friends.' Despite how terrifying it must have sounded to hear we'd walked away from Ron as he'd bled out on the stone floor, she had a crazy sort of grin on her lips. 'Continue,' she ordered.

I did. For the next two hours, I read about Snape's logic puzzle ('Ugh, he would be that infuriating,' she said, tossing a tennis ball I had sitting on my shelf up and down in the air. 'Let me see if I can figure it out before you continue.' I let her, making sure to draw the way the bottles looked on a piece of paper so she could have the same visual aid I'd had. Sure enough, she figured it out), letting Harry go on ('Seriously, how could you guys just leave each other behind like that? Weren't you afraid for Harry?' Yes…yes I was), and my adventures back through the labyrinth under the school ('Crikey, they didn't make it easy, did they?'). Finally, I reached the part I'd been looking forward to all day.

' _Standing behind Dumbledore was Snape, his face just as pale as Ron's and his eyes looking suddenly tortured,'_ I read. Samantha gasped.

'But…but wasn't Snape with Harry? I thought he was after the Philosopher's Stone for Voldemort!' I flinched. Samantha rolled her eyes. 'Why are _you_ even afraid of his name? You weren't even part of this world until a year ago.'

'I guess it comes with the territory. Everyone is afraid of his name and the more you see people react fearfully, the more afraid you become.'

'Harry's not afraid,' she said with a wistful sigh, plopping down on my bed. I scowled–honestly, we're too young to start having crushes, and I'd rather my best Muggle friend not like my best wizard friend just through what she's heard about him.

I chose not to say anything, though, and instead continued. ' _I found out three days later from Harry shortly after he reawakened in the hospital wing that it was Professor Quirrell. He was, in the end, the person who had been after the Stone the whole time_ ,' I eventually read.

'Quirrell? The fearful bloke who acted afraid of his shadow?'

'Yes,' I said somberly, closing my diary. 'Apparently he ran into You-Know-Who after leaving Hogwarts and was manipulated by him. I sort of feel sorry for him, actually.'

'How? He was a slippery little weasel, in the end. He tried to kill Harry! Twice!'

I smiled at that. For some reason, Samantha reminds me a lot of Ron. 'He died, Samantha. Yes, he was working for You-Know-Who, but according to Hagrid, he was normal when he was a student at Hogwarts. He was changed by greed and power. It could have happened to anyone. He didn't deserve to die.'

Samantha frowned and retook her seat (which she'd left a while before) and put her arm around my shoulder. 'It wouldn't have happened to you.'

'Well, no. I'm a little more rational than some,' I said, blushing. 'Quirrell was a Ravenclaw, but that doesn't mean he was logical. Just smart. It wasn't enough to save him in the end.'

'And I suppose,' Samantha added, looking up at my ceiling fan with that thoughtful look she wears when she really thinks hard about something, 'he couldn't really say no to You-Know-Who when they first met. He probably would have died right then and there. He was probably doomed from the very start, Hermione. If you really think about it, Professor Quirrell was probably just put out of his misery.'

'That's true.' A heavy weight that I'd barely noticed was there since learning the truth about Professor Quirrell suddenly lifted. From what I know about You-Know-Who, it's clear that Quirrell couldn't have lived forever with him. Even if he _had_ succeeded in procuring the Philosopher's Stone, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named wouldn't have kept him around forever.

'I've had enough of reading,' Samantha said. 'We can finish the rest tomorrow. For now, do you want to see if there's any good shows on? Or we can go to library if you like.'

We eventually decided on the library. I found a book quickly (it's about the French Revolution, which I've learned from _A History of Magic_ involved quite a few French wizards and witches), but Samantha is still searching. I suppose I'll start reading as soon as she's back.

Oh…here she comes. Oh goodness…she's carrying a book called _European Magic: Do Witches Really Exist?_ Let's see how funny this turns out to be.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Hello! I know it's been a long time since I've posted anything, but I've finally found the time to start uploading again. Hoping to have a chapter a day/every other day for you. If you like this, feel free to comment, favorite, follow, etc. Or, if you don't like it, feel free to comment why you don't like it, and I'll try to improve. As always, J.K. Rowling owns this story and most of the characters, and I'm so grateful to her for them.

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5 July 1992: Sunday

So far, the summer's been rather dull. Samantha still comes over as often as possible, but I've noticed her visits aren't as frequent, now that I have nothing more to read to her. I suppose she has to make time for her other friends as well. I haven't met Michelle and Christie yet, but I have plans to next weekend. Michelle is going to be in a local production of _Alice in Wonderland_ , and I'm to meet Samantha and Christie at the theatre next Saturday at 6:00 pm for seating.

On top of not seeing as much of Samantha as I'd like, I've also not heard from Harry. I don't know if he's particularly forgetful about writing or if this has anything to do with his terrible relatives, but it's starting to worry me. Ron hasn't even heard from him, and they're supposed to be best friends! Here's his latest letter:

 _Hermione,_

 _Just letting you know that Errol, our ancient owl, returned today after missing for several weeks. Apparently YOU sent him to Hogwarts with a letter for Professor McGonagall and it took a while for him to recuperate. We were worried about him the whole time and didn't know you'd used him. Let us know next time, all right?_

 _Anyway, I haven't heard from Harry since I said goodbye to him on Platform 9 ¾. Have you? I'm starting to worry, because he said he'd write. Do you think his aunt and uncle are being horrible to him? Let me know what you think._

 _Ron._

So there…Harry's silent to both of us. I wrote a quick reply to say no, I hadn't heard a word from him and that I was sorry for using Errol. At least I heard back from Professor McGonagall:

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _As you may have guessed, letters detailing equipment needed for the upcoming term is done on a basis of importance. First years receive their letters first, because they need more time to prepare. After we finish sending the new group of first years their acceptance letters and after we visit Muggleborn homes, we will send out letters to the rest of the school. You should be expecting yours no later than 31 July or 1 August._

 _I am uncertain over whether Professor Dumbledore has selected a new teacher for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. Even if I knew for certain the likely candidate, I would be unable to share such information with a student. Just know that we will be very selective about the appointment and try to avoid a repeat of last year._

 _Your parents were not notified about the Philosopher's Stone, because even though you were in harm's way, you came out of the third floor corridor unscathed. And, more importantly, your actions did not warrant punishment. I feel it is my fault that they were even necessary. Had I listened when you, Harry, and Ron warned me of a potential thief, I think things would have been very different. I apologise most heartily for failing you on that day._

 _If you have any further questions regarding the upcoming or the previous term, feel free to write again. Next time, I ask that you refrain from using the Weasley's owl. He's quite ill after the long journey and will need a couple of weeks to rest and revive._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

So, there you have it. My parents never learned about the Philosopher's Stone and our mad adventure, because it was deemed that our actions were both necessary and complied with the rules (even though I know they didn't). I wasn't expecting an apology from Professor McGonagall, so I'm quite stunned. She really is the best teacher employed at Hogwarts.

11 July 1992: Saturday

I was so nervous tonight, as I put on my best dress—pale yellow and short-sleeved, with a cute little floral pattern at the bottom—and walked over to Samantha's home. I had to wait half a block away, where her mum couldn't spy me out the window. Luckily, the theatre where Michelle was performing was within walking distance.

After waiting five minutes, I saw Samantha skip down their front steps. She wore a deep purple dress, velvet and comfortable looking. Smiling, she waved, and we set off.

'So, again,' Samantha explained. 'Michelle is the one in the play, Christie is our other friend who is obsessed with science.'

'I know!' I sighed, rolling my eyes in such an exaggerated way, that I felt like I'd morphed into being Ron somehow.

Samantha laughed. 'I know, I'm just so excited! I can't believe you're _finally_ meeting my other friends. You're going to love them, I promise.'

'I just hope they like me.'

Snickering, Samantha waved her hands and said, 'Oh, there's no question about that. They know everything about you—the witch thing excluded, of course. They're dying to meet you.'

I have to admit, I wasn't entirely looking forward to this night out with Samantha and her new friends. It wasn't just that I was worried I'd make yet another bad impression on someone (the sting of Ron's Halloween insult was still there, even after all we've been through together), but also that I'd somehow reveal too much about myself. It's one thing to tell my childhood best friend about Hogwarts, but another thing entirely to keep telling more and more Muggles about it. Would I get in trouble at school if I let it slip?

The moment we reached the marquis of the Wandsworth Public Theatre, I knew that wasn't going to be a problem. A small girl bounded to us. 'Sam!' she called, hugging Samantha tight around the waist. 'I'm so happy you're here! I was worried I'd have to sit through this alone!'

Samantha laughed, embracing the smaller girl in a tight hug and pointing toward me. 'Hermione, this is my friend I made last school year, Christie Yamoto. Christie, this is my oldest and dearest friend, Hermione Granger.'

'Hermione, it's so nice to meet you, at last!' Christie squeaked, jumping toward me and squeezing me tight. I gasped, unable to pull in a breath. 'Sam talks about you nonstop!'

'It's nice to meet you as well,' I choked out. 'Samantha's told me a lot about you, too.'

We shuffled into the theatre, tickets in hand and Christie going on at lightning speed about all she's been wishing to talk to me about. Favourite books, favourite subjects, favourite travel destinations. I could barely keep up, the topic changed so quickly.

'My family likes to camp in the Forest of Dean, too!' she breathed, plopping into her seat. 'It's where I first fell in love with nature. My favourite animal lives there, the pipistrelle bat. What's your favourite animal?'

'Er, I don't know,' I said, my mind racing to find the right answer. I've never had a pet or done extensive research on wildlife (I know, mad, right?), so I was for a moment at a loss for what to say. Finally, I decided to just make something up. 'Otters.'

'Oh, otters are fascinating! Did you know they sleep floating on the water and holding hands?'

I didn't have a chance to answer, because at that moment, the lights went down and the play began.

The first thing I learned about Michelle is that she's wildly talented. The stage props and scenery were far from imaginative enough to really make me believe that the characters were in Wonderland. It was Michelle who made it real. Somehow, through her conviction and acting, she performed a sort of magic that only Muggles can perform. She made the entire play come to life.

After the show, Samantha led Christie and me up to the stage to meet with Michelle.

'Oh, you're Hermione?' she asked, reaching out and shaking my hand between two of hers. 'Oh, I'm so pleased to finally get to meet you. How did you like the play?'

I blinked, not expecting to be questioned immediately. 'It was magical,' I said simply. 'You're a brilliant actress, you know.'

Michelle snickered and waved her hand dismissively, but I could tell I flattered her. Rosy patches formed on her cheeks and her grey eyes shone with pleasure. 'I've always wanted to be an actress,' she told me. 'I feel like I was born for the spotlight.'

I didn't know how to react to that, so I just nodded.

I like what I've seen of Samantha's friends. Christie is full of boundless enthusiasm, but I could tell that she gets a little bored in the face of artistic endeavour. Still, she's incredibly supportive of Michelle, clapping her hands louder than anyone else during curtain call. Michelle reminds me of Percy Weasley a bit. Fun to talk to, but definitely aware of how talented she is.

I'm eager to know them better, of course, and we have plans to meet tomorrow, and the day after. I only wish I could say the same about Harry and Ron. Why hasn't Harry written yet?

14 July 1992: Tuesday

Remember when I said this summer was dull and I wish I was back at Hogwarts? Well, I still wish I was back at Hogwarts–no amount of activity can cure me of that–but this summer has been anything but dull. I said that before I met Michelle and Christie, the two most energetic people in all of the United Kingdom.

I can't imagine whatever compelled Samantha to describe them as "just like us" other than their intellect. What they choose to do with their knowledge is completely different than Samantha and I have ever done. _We_ visit the library and discuss our findings. _They_ are active with all they learn.

Michelle is obviously an actress, but she's also so much more than that. She's a poet, and a lover of the written word, especially when it's done artistically. When we saw her in _Alice in Wonderland_ , she was so convincing that even I was able to suspend belief and accept that she'd fallen down that rabbit-hole. Now that we've spent time together, I can see how passionate she is. I'm currently reading through her notebook, a compilation of her favourite poems she's discovered in the last year and her own poetry. It's quite beautiful.

Christie is a young scientist. I visited her home and found that she has her own chemistry set in her cellar. It rather reminds me of Snape's dungeon classroom, with pungent odours saturated into the brick and the steady sound of bubbling liquid. Twice a week, Christie also attends meetings with the Young Science Scholars of Greater London. Obviously, she specializes in chemistry, but she's gone on at length all she's learned about astronomy (which we have in common!), physics, biology, and geology. It's really quite fun and refreshing spending time with her, because everything we do leads to deep discussion.

I've spent quite a bit of time with Samantha and her friends. I love all the activity, all the movement. It's a nice way to spend what are supposed to be idle days. But I still miss my other friends. I've heard quite a bit from Ron, but I still have yet to receive any word from Harry. I'm really starting to worry about him. We've been away from Hogwarts for nearly a month and he's still silent. What if something awful happened to him?

No, Hermione. Don't let yourself think such things. Just focus on the fun you're having, and eventually, Harry will write.

22 July 1992: Wednesday

 _Dear Hermione,_

 _I'm scared for Harry. What if the Muggles murdered him or something? Mum and Dad are starting to worry too, and they're tempted to fetch him from his home, but I don't think they quite understand. Harry wouldn't ignore us like this, would he? We were friends with him, right? I mean, otherwise we wouldn't have gone to save the Philosopher's Stone. He'd have taken Neville or Draco bloody Malfoy instead._

 _His birthday is next Friday. I think if we haven't heard anything by then, we need to start planning something. Maybe you should try to gong him on the bell-tone device Muggles use._

 _Ron_

It took me a moment to realise he means for me to 'ring him on the telephone.'

And he's right to be worried. I specifically remember Harry saying just as we were getting off the Hogwarts Express, 'Make sure you both write to me! Otherwise the summer's going to be miserable. I'll send Hedwig sometime to make it easy.' I remember, because he added that last bit in for me, since I don't own an owl.

Maybe I _should_ say something to my parents…

30 July 1992: Thursday

'I'm sorry your friend hasn't responded, Hermione, but I really don't know what your mother and I can do about it,' Dad told me at breakfast this morning. I've been pestering them about Harry's silence for over a week now. It started with casually bringing him up during dinner, but then progressed to me discussing his horrible relations at length. Now it's practically all I can talk about.

I sighed. 'I just wish I knew his telephone number. Then I could ring him and learn why he hasn't written once.'

'Where does he live?' Mum spoke up before taking a sip of her orange juice.

'Little Whinging, in Surrey.' I only know this because I've addressed about 25 letters to him since June.

'Perhaps I'll have a look in the phone book at the library today,' she suggested. 'I'm fairly certain they have all the books for Surrey.'

My heart leaped at the prospect. I'm hoping beyond everything that Mum comes home with good news tonight. In the meantime, I've made a tin of cupcakes, two of which I'm sending out to my friends with Errol. Ron's let me borrow him to give Harry a birthday gift, and Errol will bring one of the cupcakes home with him for Ron. I figure he might want to celebrate Harry's birthday too, even if we haven't heard anything from him. I know I'll have one tomorrow and think of him as well.

I hear the front door! Hopefully Mum has his number…

30 August 1992: Sunday

It's been a month since I last wrote in you, and for that I sincerely apologise. So much has happened–I received my book list from Hogwarts and learned who our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor will be. I also spent practically every day (apart from 12 August) with Samantha, Michelle, and Christie. I've attended Science Club meetings, helped build sets for Wandsworth Junior Theatre's production of _Oliver!_ , and kept in constant contact with Ron and, eventually, Harry.

But as you can guess, the most important thing of the summer was learning the truth about Harry's disappearance and why he wouldn't answer us:

This is kind of a complicated story. It all began 8 August. Apparently Ron decided to take it upon himself to fly his dad's car (yes, _fly_ ) to Little Whinging and save Harry from his relatives. Of course, he didn't tell me anything about this until after the fact.

When he got to the Dursley's, he discovered Harry locked in his bedroom with bars on his window. He'd gotten in severe trouble on his birthday and was being punished. Ron said they even installed a cat flap on his door so they could feed him without having to let him out of his room. Just thinking about it makes me sick with rage.

Anyway, after escaping, they drove to Ron's house and that's where Harry's been staying ever since. At first, I didn't quite understand why Harry hadn't sent letters. Ron tried to explain in one of his notes to me, but it sounded incoherent:

 _Harry didn't even get our birthday presents or our letters, by the way. This elf stopped him._

What? I had no idea what that meant at all, so I had to wait until 12 August, when we met up in Diagon Alley to get all the details. I first saw him there, coming out of a side alley with Hagrid, not the Weasleys as I expected. His face and clothing were covered in soot and his glasses shattered.

'What happened to your glasses?' I asked.

Harry had no opportunity to explain. The Weasley clan, all seven currently living at The Burrow (which is what they call their home), came bustling down the street. I could tell by their conversation ('We hoped you'd only gone one grate too far,' for instance) that Harry travelled by Floo Powder. I know all about Floo Powder, of course, because it's been mentioned in _Hogwarts, A History_ as a former mode of transportation into Hogwarts–until the Hogwarts Express was invented.

Mum and Dad were trailing behind me at that point, because they'd come with me this time. Deciding to spend more time with their only child before she returned to school, they'd both agreed to take a Wednesday off from work and accompany me to Diagon Alley. Dad's still quite uneasy about the wizarding world. Hagrid's appearance had left him dumbstruck. Mum eyed Harry curiously, no doubt surprised both at how dishevelled he looked and how small he is. I'm still taller than him. And when the gang of red-headed Weasleys gathered around us, Ron giving me a companionable pat on the back, Mum's brows raised. I'm sure she wasn't expecting them ALL to be so red, or for Ron to be so tall. He's already beginning to tower over me.

Anyway, once we found ourselves able to talk, Harry explained everything.

'Have you ever heard of house elves?' he wondered.

I shook my head and twitched irritably as Ron snickered. 'I would have thought little Miss Know-It-All would have given you a definition straight out of the textbooks.'

'This is the first time we've seen each other since June, you know,' I said crossing my arms.

'ANYWAY!' Harry quickly interjected, trying with all his might to stave off any fighting. 'They're apparently elves that are born into servitude for wizarding families.'

'Servitude?' I asked, bringing a hand to my mouth. 'You mean slavery?'

'That's what it sounded like,' Harry said. 'I had one named Dobby visit my bedroom at the Dursley's on my birthday and explain that terrible things were going to happen this year at school.'

Ron snorted again, stuffing his hands into his pockets. 'How would he know that anyway?'

'I really can't be sure, and I don't know whether to believe him or not. He acted like he was going against an order just speaking to me. Apparently, he's been blocking my mail from getting to me. I suppose Dobby figured if I thought my friends had abandoned me, that I wouldn't go back to school.'

'That's dreadful!' I said. 'At least you know now that we did write to you. Was he blocking your letters to us or something?'

'Actually, Hedwig spent most of her summer locked in her cage. Uncle Vernon did that to make sure I couldn't contact my 'freaky friends.''

So, there you have it. I'm a little concerned over Dobby the house elf's warning. It's not like we've had normal lives at Hogwarts so far. It's really not all that unbelievable that terrible things should happen. I just hope that he's mistaken.


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Yay! Hermione goes back to Hogwarts and spends the entire journey fretting over Harry and Ron, who are mysteriously absent from the Hogwarts Express. Please review/follow/favorite if you like this, and at least drop me a review if you don't. J.K. Rowling owns this story and these characters._

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1 September 1992: Tuesday

7:33 am

Unlike this time last year, I was able to sleep last night. Don't get me wrong, I'm very excited to be going back to the magical world, but there's a lot that's happened this summer that makes leaving home bittersweet. Last summer, my best Muggle friend was cross with me and I was certain we'd never speak again. Hogwarts was destined to be my new beginning. This summer, I'm not only on wonderful terms with Samantha, but I've made two new friends that I need to keep in contact with (of course, they don't know about Hogwarts or me being a witch, so I can't really send them an owl…oh, this is going to be difficult, I think).

This time around, going to Hogwarts isn't a new beginning, it's a continuation. Granted, it's the continuation of something wonderful (I can't begin to tell you how much I miss Harry and Ron–our trip to Diagon Alley just wasn't enough), but I feel like I have less to prove this year. I know where I stand with the other students and I feel…more secure. Less uncertain.

Mum and Dad want to take me out for breakfast before I leave, so I better get ready to go. I think we might go with Samantha again.

10:15 am

Once again, my parents have outdone themselves. I expected them to treat me and Samantha to the same breakfast we had when I went back to school this winter. That was the plan we discussed, at least. Instead, we drove a rather straight path for King's Cross.

'Aren't we having breakfast with Samantha?' I asked, my stomach twisting in a knot.

'Oh, we're sorry, we forgot,' Dad said. He continued to drive toward our destination, not bothering to turn around.

'So,' I said after a few minutes, 'are we just going to forget about my friend? I don't want her to be mad at me again!'

Neither of my parents answered. By the time we were two blocks away from King's Cross, I was frowning and holding back tears. How could my parents do this to me? We'd had these plans in place for weeks! How could they sabotage my friendship like this?

But then they parked on the street…a long distance from the train station, which wasn't even in sight. 'What are we doing?' I asked.

It was Mum who couldn't take it anymore. 'Let's go into this restaurant instead. You might be surprised with it.' I knew now that they'd planned something else behind my back. I read the sign to the restaurant and breathed a sigh of relief: _La Hermosa Mañana_. A Spanish breakfast diner, believe it or not.

I haven't had time to write about it, but I've been rather cultural this summer, particularly when it comes to Spain. It's been hard not to–Christie's mother is Spanish (and her father is Japanese, though she's less interested in that part of her heritage), Samantha is learning the language ('So I can talk to Mrs. Yamoto in her native language,' she explained), and Michelle's family is planning to go to Barcelona for their Christmas holiday (it's practically all she's been able to talk about, beyond theatre and poetry). I suppose I must have spoken of it several times to Mum and Dad, because they were watching for my reaction. I gave them a confused smile–although I had an idea of what waited inside–and followed in their wake.

Sure enough, sitting at a long table were Samantha, Michelle, and Christie. 'Happy Back to School Day!' Christie greeted me. Her bright smile contrasted beautifully with her shiny black hair.

'Feliz Día de la Escuela!' Samantha corrected, lunging forward to give me a tight hug.

'We thought we'd treat you to a traditional Spanish breakfast. I've already ordered huevos con chorizo for the whole table,' Michelle said. 'It is by far my favourite Spanish dish.'

We spent the next two hours talking about school. I had to lie quite a bit, pretending I was about to go back to Welsley's, but Samantha understood the hidden meaning behind my words.

'I'm really looking forward to seeing Harry and Ron again,' I told them. Michelle and Christie know all about my school friends. 'Maybe this year I can actually get them to study some Evolution. And I hope our Chemistry teacher is much nicer.'

'It's so cool you study Evolution at Welsley's,' Christie said. Of course, by 'Evolution,' I meant 'Transfiguration.'

'I think you'll at least be well-prepared for Literature this year,' Michelle said. I've been calling Charms 'Literature.' I couldn't think of any Muggle equivalent. Plus, there's a lot of reading. I've already read _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ twice, making sure to hide my book in our attic, where neither of my new friends could find it.

At 9:45, Michelle's parents came to pick both of my friends up and my parents took me and Samantha to King's Cross. Very curious about how Platform 9 ¾ works, I'd promised Samantha she could see me break through the wall and into the wizarding world. She was a little upset when I told her she couldn't access it herself, but I've promised that at some point, I'd take her to Diagon Alley. I suppose I'll do that over Christmas or something.

I'm a little early (45 minutes), but I've already boarded the train, leaving Mum, Dad, and Samantha in the Muggle world. The familiar excitement from entering the wizarding world is drumming a rhythm in my chest. Now that I'm on the Hogwarts Express, I can feel exactly how much I've missed this part of my life. I can't wait for Harry and Ron to get here.

Oh, Neville just walked by. I think I'll say hello.

10:43 am

'Gran's been really kind about me winning the cup for Gryffindor last term. Of course, she says she'd like to see more from me…that she'd rather I win more points than I lost.'

'Neville, your gran needs to stop being so hard on you,' I said in the kindest voice I could muster. I really do get tired of hearing all the horrid things she tells him. 'You're wonderful just as you are.'

Neville turned a bright shade of pink and opened a new Chocolate Frog. He hasn't spoken since. I can't imagine it's particularly easy to hear something so negative about a family member. I just hope eventually saying such nice things will make him feel better and boost his self-esteem.

I have yet to see Harry and Ron pass by. Hopefully they come soon. I want to see if they've been visited by that elf again.

11:01 am

The train's pulling away from the station and I haven't seen Harry or Ron! When the barrier passed by, I could see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley frantically trying to get through the gate, but it not opening. I don't know what's happening, but I'm going to find out. Hopefully at least one of Ron's brothers or his sister are on board.

12:22 pm

'I don't know what happened to them,' Percy swore to me outside the Prefects' Carriage. I'd been standing there for at least a quarter of an hour, waiting for the first meeting of the year to break up. So far, I'd only really walked the length of the train, peeking into the glass of carriages I past. I now know Fred and George are near the front with their friend Lee Jordan, and Ginny, Ron's little sister, is seated in the next to last car with a pale girl with dark blonde hair. Ron and Harry are nowhere.

'Your mother and father couldn't get back through the gate to the Muggle world. Do you think Harry and Ron are trapped on the other side?' I asked.

'If you can't find them, certainly. I'll sent Hermes to them with a note…see what's happening. Thank you for letting me know.'

I'm back in my own compartment now, waiting for news from Percy. How are they going to get to school? And what could have possibly happened with the gateway?

2:11 pm

'Mum only sent me this,' Percy said, bursting into our compartment. Neville squeaked, not expecting one of Gryffindor's prefects to appear just as he was about to practise one of our new charms. I suppose he must have thought he'd get in trouble, because he stashed his wand under his leg and snapped _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 2_ closed.

I took what looked like a blank sheet of parchment from Percy's hand and read the one word written on it: _Yes._

'Yes?' I asked. 'What does she mean?'

'All I asked was if it was true that the barrier sealed itself and that Harry and Ron were on the Muggle side.'

Neville looked to me, confusion in his eyes. 'The barrier sealed itself? Is that where Harry and Ron are then?' I nodded, irritated that it had taken this long for Neville to realise two of our friends are missing.

'And I assume it's still sealed,' Percy replied taking a step back so that he was standing in the door frame, 'otherwise Mum would not have sent such a brief reply.'

He left after that, using Fred, George, and Ginny as an excuse ('They might be worried'–I doubted if they even noticed their absence). In his wake, I began to imagine Harry and Ron, trapped on the non-magical side of Platform 9 ¾, their carts filled with luggage that would, in the normal world, be deemed ludicrous. Hedwig would screech and draw attention to them and they'd be kicked out of King's Cross.

And I'm still imagining it. It's so sad and, probably from Ron's perspective, a little frightening. I hope they're all right.

4:56 pm

I still haven't heard anything from Harry, Ron, or even Percy, who swore he'd tell me if Mr. or Mrs. Weasley wrote to tell him more. We only have an hour left of our journey!

I've been reading through _Hogwarts, A History_ , again, because I knew at some point, it mentions alternative methods students used to take to get to school before the Hogwarts Express was invented. I'm positive Professor Dumbledore would give the boys permission to use Floo Powder to get to school, or even a Portkey (a magical object that transports you from one place to the next with a simple touch). I just hope they know about those alternative methods and they're not panicking.

Who knows? They may already be at Hogwarts, waiting for us all to arrive.

6:12 pm

The train has officially stopped. Neville, who's still adjusting his red and gold tie, is looking out the window to see if Ron and Harry have come down to meet us on the platform (I told him about Floo Powder and the Portkey idea and he's rather run with it). I can already hear Hagrid calling for the first years ('Firs' years this way! Don' be shy!'). Despite my worry about Ron and Harry, I can't stop from smiling–I'm home.

6:45 pm

Still no sign of them, and I'm now in the Great Hall, waiting for the first years to arrive from the lake with Hagrid.

After we walked onto the platform neither of us knew where to go. 'Surely we don't get our own boats,' Neville whispered, keeping his voice down for fear he'd embarrass himself.

'No. Otherwise, Hagrid would have directions for us all. Not to mention we'd have noticed the other students on the lake last year and they would have arrived at the same time we did.' I twisted and turned, watching a small crowd filter through the large mass of the student body toward Hagrid. The rest, which I was now officially a part of, as odd as that felt, marched toward a large set of wooden stairs to the right of the platform, toward a small dusty road behind the train station.

'This way,' I said, taking Neville's free hand and guiding him alongside everyone else. It was kind of a slow progression–people walked at different paces and the boys kept shoving each other on purpose. Finally, we found ourselves at the bottom of the dirt path and I gasped.

'Of course, Neville!' I said. 'Last year we left the school via the horseless carriages, so that means this year we'll go up to it in the carriages!'

Neville gave me an odd look, his eyes flickering between me and the rigging at the front of the carriage. 'Er, right. Of course!' His voice wasn't as enthusiastic as mine, but I suppose that's because he hadn't figured it out like I had.

We waited in line for the next carriage. Behind us, people were groaning loudly and I turned to see something–someone, actually–shoving their way through the crowd. For one moment, my stomach clenched excitedly. That had to be Harry's black hair I could see! But then, Seamus Finnigan's face appeared in a gap between two seventh years, followed by Dean Thomas.

'There you two are!' Seamus said. He had a newspaper clutched in his fist and his eyes shone with the most exciting news. 'Have you heard yet?'

'Heard what?' Neville wondered.

'Hold on,' I said, reaching out for the door of the next carriage and hopping in. The three boys followed me in and slammed the door shut.

'This.' Seamus held up a copy of the paper and I saw a news story on the front page that really didn't make much sense. _FLYING FORD ANGLIA MYSTIFIES MUGGLES._

My mind recalled Ron's letter the day he'd saved Harry. _We're going to take Dad's Ford Anglia and fly it to Surrey to break Harry out._ I couldn't stop myself–I smacked my palm against my forehead.

'Do you think it's Harry and Ron?' Dean asked. 'Everyone on the train said it must have been.'

I couldn't say anything. I knew it had to have been. To quote Fred and George a few minutes ago, as we all sat down at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, only Ron would be stupid enough to consider an illegal flying car a viable form of transportation.

I just hope it's all a mistake.

7:31 pm

The first years were just marching down the centre row between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables when we heard a loud bang and a crunch in the distance beyond the stained-glass windows. There was silence for a moment–the procession of first years had halted and we all stared at the windows–and then we heard more bangs and crunches. Everyone began talking at once.

'Oh no, they've crashed Dad's car,' Percy murmured.

'Well, if you're going to get expelled, I suppose the best way to do it is with a bang,' Fred said.

'And a crash,' George added.

'You don't think they'd expel Harry do you?' I heard Ginny Weasley whisper to the girl in front of her. A twinge of annoyance rose up within me–her brother was in that car too. We should worry about them both.

At the head of the hall, Snape jumped up from his seat and ran out a side door. Professor McGonagall came out of the same door, the Sorting Hat and stool in her grasp. She glanced around the students, her brows furrowing.

'Quiet, please!' she called. She set the stool and hat down. Only a few of us heard. The rest still chatted in loud voices, laughing as though the idea of Ron and Harry in a car wreck was the funniest idea ever.

'QUIET!' she shouted again. This time, everyone settled down, including the Slytherins, who were eager to see both of the boys expelled. 'First years, please come forward. The rest of you, show some respect.'

Again, I can't remember the Sorting Hat's song. It was pretty generic, really _._ The new first year class were anxious to place the hat on and for a while, I forgot about my two missing friends. When Professor McGonagall finally reached 'Weasley, Ginevra,' I sat up in my chair. Ron wasn't here to see this, but I knew he'd want to know just where his sister went.

' _G _ryffindor!__ ' the hat called almost instantly. Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, ripped the Sorting Hat from the top of her head, and practically sprinted to the table. It's honestly the most energetic I've ever seen her. Usually she's cowering behind someone else in the family (well, except for that time we were in Flourish and Blotts this summer and she defended Harry to Draco, which I now realise I never told you about. I can't remember the specifics, but Draco was awful and his father came over and got in a fist fight with Mr. Weasley). It was nice to see a little spirit out of her.

'Congratulations, Ginny,' I said, giving her a friendly grin.

Her smile vanished immediately. 'Thanks,' she said coolly.

I turned to Neville, hoping that maybe I was imagining Ginny's reaction, but he gave me a confused shrug. I have to admit, I'm a little perplexed about how she treated me. Even now, as everyone is eating and enjoying themselves, I feel…strange about it. I don't know. Perhaps she _is_ worried about Ron?

11:13 pm

' _T _here__ you are! Where have you _been_? The most _ridiculous_ rumours! Someone said you'd been expelled for crashing a flying _car!_ ' Harry and Ron were standing at the portrait of the Fat Lady, scratching their heads as they tried to come up with the password. I'd been waiting on them, absolutely certain now that they'd somehow escaped expulsion, because after the Sorting, Professor McGonagall had run off somewhere and Snape came back with the most disappointed scowl.

Of course, I sounded like I didn't have any real clue as to what had happened. I wanted them to explain in full, but they gave me nothing other than, 'Well, we haven't been expelled.'

'You're not telling me you _did_ fly here?!' I snapped, still traumatised by the crunching of what must have been a very severe crash.

But again, Harry and Ron said nothing. Ron told me to not lecture them and I gave them the password ('wattlebird'). From then on, I had no opportunity to discuss it with them. Everyone in Gryffindor cheered and clapped like they were heroes. Harry and Ron disappeared easily in the throng of worshippers, giving me a brief, 'Goodnight.'

I've gone to bed. I'm so irritated with them. They could have died! That wreck of theirs sounded absolutely horrendous! I don't care if they couldn't get through the barrier, there are other, sounder ways to get to Hogwarts, less illegal ways that probably wouldn't get their parents in trouble.

Because that's what's going to happen. Mr. Weasley works at the Misuse of Muggle Artifact Office at the Ministry of Magic. It's his job to stop people from placing spells on Muggle objects and here he's gone and enchanted his car! He could lose his job. Tomorrow, I'll be sure to tell Ron off about it.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Hello! You're actually going to get a few chapters today. I added a couple of entries to Chapter 3, so I had to reupload it. Then, of course, we have this bit of craziness, and one more. Again, if you want to leave me a review, it would be much appreciated, and don't forget to favorite/follow if you like what you're reading. J.K. Rowling is the creator of this story, these characters, and this spectacular world I get to play in. I, unfortunately, don't own any of this._

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3 September 1992: Thursday

3:42 pm

I've only now found a spare moment long enough to describe the events of the last couple of days. As much as it pains me to say it, Gryffindor's schedule of classes for second years is VERY unbalanced. Well, that's not true. Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday are all relatively fair. But Wednesday, yesterday, was annoyingly complicated, with our classes lasting until 5:45 in the evening, just 15 minutes before dinner began.

Here's what Harry, Ron, and I are facing this year:

Monday  
7:30-9:00 am: Breakfast  
9:00-9:15: Break  
9:15-10:15: Potions - Slytherin - Dungeon Classroom 2  
10:15-10:30: Break  
10:30-11:30: Herbology - Hufflepuff - Greenhouse Three  
11:30-11:45: Break  
11:45-12:45 pm: Charms - Ravenclaw - Fourth Floor Corridor, Room 415  
12:45-1:00: Break  
1:00-2:00: Lunch  
2:00-2:15: Break  
2:15-3:15: Defence Against the Dark Arts - Hufflepuff - Second Floor Corridor, Room 201  
3:15-6:00: Break  
6:00-8:00: Dinner

Tuesday  
7:30-9:00 am: Breakfast  
9:00-9:15: Break  
9:15-10:15: Transfiguration - Ravenclaw - Seventh Floor Corridor, Room 700  
10:15-10:30: Break  
10:30-12:45 pm: Charms - Ravenclaw - Fourth Floor Corridor, Room 415  
12:45-1:00: Break  
1:00-2:00: Lunch  
2:00-2:15: Break  
2:15-3:15: Herbology - Hufflepuff - Greenhouse Three  
3:15-3:30: Break  
3:30-4:30: History of Magic - Hufflepuff - Sixth Floor Corridor, Room 624  
4:30-6:00: Break  
6:00-8:00: Dinner

Wednesday  
7:30-9:00 am: Breakfast  
9:00-9:15: Break  
9:15-11:30: Double Herbology - Hufflepuff - Greenhouse Three  
11:30-11:45: Break  
11:45-12:45 pm: Transfiguration - Ravenclaw - Seventh Floor Corridor, Room 700  
12:45-1:00: Break  
1:00-2:00: Lunch  
2:00-2:15: Break  
2:15-4:30: Double Potions - Slytherin - Dungeon Classroom 2  
4:30-4:45: Break  
4:45-5:45: Defence Against the Dark Arts - Hufflepuff - Second Floor Corridor, Room 201  
5:45-6:00: Break  
6:00-8:00: Dinner

Thursday  
7:30-9:00 am: Breakfast  
9:00-9:15: Break  
9:15-10:15: Charms - Ravenclaw - Fourth Floor Corridor, Room 415  
10:15-10:30: Break  
10:30-11:30: Herbology - Hufflepuff - Greenhouse Three  
11:30-11:45: Break  
11:45-12:45 pm: Transfiguration - Ravenclaw - Seventh Floor Corridor, Room 700  
12:45-1:00: Break  
1:00-2:00: Lunch  
2:00-2:15: Break  
2:15-3:15: Potions - Slytherin - Dungeon Classroom 2  
3:15-6:00: Break  
6:00-8:00: Dinner  
12:00-1:00 am: Astronomy - Hufflepuff - Astronomy Tower 1

Friday  
8:00-9:30 am: Breakfast  
9:30-9:45: Break  
9:45-10:45: Charms - Ravenclaw - Fourth Floor Corridor, Room 415  
10:45-11:00: Break  
11:00-12:00 pm: History of Magic - Hufflepuff - Sixth Floor Corridor, Classroom 624  
12:00-1:00: Break  
1:00-2:00: Lunch  
2:00-2:15: Break  
2:15-3:15: Defence Against the Dark Arts - Hufflepuff - Second Floor Corridor, Room 201  
3:15-6:00: Break  
6:00-8:00: Dinner

So you see, it's not all bad. We do have a full two hours and fifteen minutes of nothingness on Friday, which will give us a good opportunity to do our weekly visit with Hagrid. I just wish Wednesday wasn't so chaotic–it puts a strain on my homework schedule.

Yesterday I woke up irritable. Not because of my schedule–I didn't receive it until after the mail arrived at breakfast–but because of Harry and Ron. Lavender and Parvati kept going on and on about how brave they were to take matters into their own hands and arrive to school via enchanted car. They chattered about it as I lay trying to sleep, as I brushed my teeth in the morning, in the showers, and as the three of us marched down the many staircases to get to breakfast. It almost felt like they were following me, just to get on my nerves.

Luckily when we got to the Great Hall, they plopped themselves down next to Fred and George, no doubt looking for more juicy details of Harry and Ron's adventure. Neither of them were to be seen, so I opened my bag, grabbed a bowl of porridge and a jug of milk and settled down to read _Voyages with Vampires_ by our Defence professor, Gilderoy Lockhart. Of course, this will be my third time reading it, but I had to flip through it a little. After all, it is my favourite of his books. He's so brave–it seems unreal that he actually had the nerve to live in a vampire colony for fifteen months!

I was just getting to a good part–Venechka, the first vampire to realise Professor Lockhart wasn't one of them, attacked him in his sleep–when Ron scooted in next to me. Even though my eyes were trained on the page I was reading, I saw his scowl. He doesn't like Professor Lockhart very well. I don't know why, really. We're lucky to have such an accomplished person teaching defence!

'Good morning, Hermione!' Harry greeted pleasantly, plopping himself in the seat opposite me.

I let out a little huff, intent upon showing my continued disapproval of Ron and Harry's flight and crash the previous night. 'Morning.' I didn't dare look to see his face–even though I was mad at him, I don't like hurting Harry's feelings.

If the mail hadn't have arrived, I probably would have continued being icy to Harry and Ron all through the morning. But just as I was reading about Gilderoy Lockhart warding off Venechka with garlic and, oddly, Brazilian samba music, something grey and exhausted landed in my milk.

'Errol!' Ron exclaimed in an annoyed, you're-the-worst-owl-ever sort of way. 'Oh no!'

'It's all right, he's still alive!' I said, gently touching Errol's chest. The little owl was pulling in great breaths and struggling to recover. I felt bad for him.

But it wasn't the owl Ron was concerned with. Clutched in Errol's beak was a bright red envelope that was beginning to smoke at the corners. Neither Harry nor I knew what it was, but Ron said it was called a Howler. 'You better open it,' Neville suddenly advised. 'It'll be worse if you don't. My gran sent me one once and I ignored it and…it was horrible.'

Slowly pulling the envelope away from Errol's beak, Ron opened it and we were at once greeted by a tirade of screaming. I can't remember everything Mrs. Weasley put into her note, but I _do_ remember:

'I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED IF THEY EXPELLED YOU! I SUPPOSE YOU DIDN'T STOP TO THINK ABOUT WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WENT THROUGH WHEN WE SAW IT WAS GONE! YOU AND HARRY COULD HAVE BOTH DIED! YOUR FATHER IS FACING AND INQUIRY AT WORK! IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!'

I knew it. I knew Mr. Weasley would get in trouble for that car the minute the crash was heard outside. Closing my book, I turned to Ron and said, 'Well, I don't know what you expected, but-'

'Don't say I deserve it,' he hissed, giving me a deadly glare.

I was upset with him the rest breakfast. Honestly, it's not my fault he and Harry were too stupid to just wait and find a legal way to get to Hogwarts. But then, as we trudged out to Greenhouse Three for our first Herbology lesson of the school year, I decided I should go a little easier on them. After all, they had already received detentions (something Harry mentioned as he looked at his jam-packed schedule–'How on earth are we going to have enough time to serve our detentions with our Wednesdays looking like this?!'), and Mrs. Weasley did a fantastic job of shaming Ron.

In fact, as we walked through the sun-streaked grounds, I rather thought Harry was the one getting off easy. He didn't have guardians that cared for him enough to scold him and I knew Mrs. Weasley wasn't going to yell at The Boy Who Lived when her son was involved in the mischief too. A year ago, I might have thought Harry incapable of doing wrong and would have been certain Ron was a bad influence on him. And in some ways, I'm sure he is. But after having broken several school rules under Harry's influence, losing 50 points for Gryffindor, serving a detention, and venturing into the forbidden third floor corridor, I now realise that the Ford Anglia incident had to have been a plan they mutually concocted.

I had almost decided to be kinder to Ron than Harry, just so he could feel the effects of his bad behaviour, when suddenly, Professor Lockhart cornered Harry outside of Greenhouse Three before our lesson. After a very fun, but tiring two hours of repotting Mandrakes, Harry informed me and Ron that Lockhart had told him off for trying to draw attention to himself. While I think Professor Lockhart may have missed something (I don't think Harry wants attention, really), it was nice to hear someone was looking out for him.

'It'll be all right,' I said sweetly to him. 'Let's just move on from last night. We know you weren't pulling any stunts, Harry.'

In Transfiguration, we transformed beetles into buttons and after that we had Potions. But it's the rather rough Defence lesson I want to talk about. Everyone was up in arms about the surprise quiz Professor Lockhart gave us. 'The questions were stupid!' Ron complained later on at dinner with Fred and George, who as third years, were given a similar exam. 'It's a defence class! We should have been quizzed on stuff like jinxes and hexes, but instead, we had to answer questions about Lockhart's favourite lotion and bath soap!'

My stomach churned uncomfortably. I hate hearing anyone complain about a professor, especially about one as charming and talented as Professor Lockhart. 'It wasn't stupid! Are you so thick you can't see the pertinence of the questions? He asked us simple things that were sprinkled throughout his books so that he could see how closely we were paying attention. I think it was brilliant!'

Ron scoffed and Harry looked at me with raised brows. 'You really will defend any teacher, won't you?' Harry asked. 'He didn't even know how to stop the Cornish Pixies he let loose on the class!'

'Okay, so his lesson got a little out of control, but it's his first time teaching! You have to go easy on him. He'll get the hang of being in front of the classroom in no time.'

'I don't think his lack of control had anything to do with first day jitters,' Ron said through a bite of his meat pie. 'I just think he's incompetent.'

'Clearly you haven't read any of his books, then,' I replied, sticking my nose up in the air. 'And besides, I won't defend every teacher! Snape was absolutely horrid today.'

And he was. Our two hours in Potions had been spent trying to make a Stinging Solution. I know the ingredients by heart, because it was one of our final potions from last year. Irritated with the answers I was supplying, he ended up taking ten points from me for talking too much. Then he kept pestering Harry and Ron, no doubt annoyed that they're still enrolled at Hogwarts. It was just a bad lesson.

We went to bed last night exhausted from our day and with hardly any homework completed. Today isn't so bad, I suppose. And it's nice to think that we don't have another long day like that for a full week.

4 September 1992: Friday

Harry has what he's calling a 'stalker.' I personally think Colin's just an overenthusiastic Muggle-born and, if I'm being honest with myself, a bit like me. I remember how overwhelming it was to find myself surrounded by magic and be sorted into the same house as Harry. He's a household name, for Merlin's sake*, and you don't have to look too far beyond your school books to find his name and his story. If I hadn't been so restrained, I might have driven Harry mad last year too (actually, I think I rather DID drive him mad…Ron too. I just kept the fact that I was a wee bit star-struck to myself).

So, I really can't blame Colin Creevey, the most outspoken of Gryffindor's new first years, for wanting to talk to Harry at every opportunity he gets. Nor can he be blamed for wanting to take a picture of everything he sees or for wanting to learn all about the magical methods of developing photographs.

However, I can see he's starting to get on Harry's nerves, and he's already embarrassed him massively by asking for an autograph right in front of Draco Malfoy and Professor Lockhart. The latter was very helpful, if a little wrong in thinking Harry was soliciting Colin's fanatical attention, because he quickly swept Harry away and rescued him from (some) of Draco's heckling. However, Draco hasn't let it go and keeps going on and on about how Harry's only famous for his 'good looks', pointing to the lightning bolt-shaped scar on Harry's head, and keeps asking him when his next press conference will be. And he only picks on Harry when Lockhart is nearby, prompting our professor to rightfully worry about Harry's behaviour. So, in one fell swoop, Draco manages to irritate Harry and get a joke in on one of our most accomplished professors.

I feel bad for Harry. He doesn't ask for any of this recognition and for some reason, no matter how hard he tries to explain to Professor Lockhart that he's not lusting for fame, Lockhart doesn't understand. I suppose with unfortunate incidents such as the flying car, the sudden unwanted autograph session, and Draco's teasing, it would be hard to believe that Harry wasn't seeking attention. I just wish Harry would understand that Professor Lockhart means no harm. And I wish Draco would stop making Harry feel bad about his past and You-Know-Who, but of course, that will never happen.

I suppose the only think I _can_ do is try to talk some sense into Colin Creevey and get him to some sort of comfort zone where Harry's concerned. Maybe I'll talk to Ron about it.

*I am now trying to incorporate Ron's magical slang of 'Merlin's sake' instead of saying 'Lord' or 'God.' Magical language is much more playful and doesn't risk hurting anyone's feelings.

5 September 1992: Saturday

'I've about had it with this wand,' Ron said, plopping down next to me in the common room. He held up his old, chipped wand, which had snapped in half in the car crash and is now being held together with Spellotape. Harry and I have both suggested that Ron write home to his parents about it and see if he can at least get another hand-me-down, but Ron refuses. Apparently, his mum will just see it as another opportunity to scold him. 'How am I supposed to practise the Ascending Charm, when my wand mistakes the command and causes huge boils on peoples' faces instead?'

I cringed–poor Professor Flitwick still isn't out of hospital. 'Well, you're not practising it around me. Find an empty classroom.'

'Oh, come on, Hermione!' Ron moaned. 'Harry's already gone to bed, and you know you're the only one who might have some clue on how to tame this stupid thing.'

'No, Ron!' I said firmly. 'You'll end up hurting me or yourself and then you'll just feel bad!'

'No, I won't!'

I gave him an irritated look.

'Fine!' he said with a sigh. Ron slumped in his seat, his lips pouting and his voice suddenly sombre. 'I guess I'll just fail. I'm going to have to repeat second year, because of this stupid thing. I suppose I deserve it, right?'

I couldn't help myself. I felt his words tugging at my heart and briefly imagined how horrible it would be if Ron failed a year. 'Oh, all right!' I gave in. 'I'll research wands a little tomorrow during the day and then in the evening, we'll find a safe classroom and you can practise on some desks or something.'

Ron grinned and sat up, stuffing his wand in his pocket. 'Thanks, Hermione! You're the best.'

If you would have told me this time last year that Ron would say something like that, I would have said you were a nutter. Now, I just smile–of course Ron thinks that. We'd do anything for each other–we're best friends.

6 September 1992: Sunday

About wands:

 **Length:** Typically speaking, wands often coordinate with the bearer's physical stature (1). However, the most prominent wandmaker, Garrick Ollivander, argues that height only dictates a little as far as length goes (2). Only when someone is extremely tall would one need a correspondingly long wand. Oftentimes, the length of a wand is a reflection on one's character. For example, if someone is great or powerful, they may have a lengthy wand. On the other hand, if their character is lacking something, then their wand may be short (which is why I always think it looks like Vincent Crabbe is pointing at something with his finger when he's casting a spell).

In your case, Ron, Charlie's wand measures about 12 inches. Since I've never met Charlie, I don't quite know if this is purely based on his height. However, if he's short, it's a sign that he's a powerful person. Wielding a powerful person's wand could be problematic when it's cracked, so the smartest thing you might try doing is putting less energy behind your spells (which, I know, is the exact opposite of what we've learned in Charms and Transfiguration. I just think you'll do less damage that way).

 **Wood:** Some wandmakers insist that any type of wood can be used to make a wand (3), however Mr. Ollivander argues that trees, like humans, are born either with or without magical abilities. The capabilities of the wood are determined by what type of tree it was taken from, although a combination of length, wood type, and magical substance can change the behaviour of the wand.

Your brother Charlie's wand is made of ash which, according to Ollivander, is the most stubborn type of wood. It's fiercely loyal to its original owner, especially when paired with unicorn hair (as your wand is). I think if Charlie were the one to have broken the wand, he would have better results than you when it came to spellwork. My only advice here is to try to win the wand over. Polish the wood, don't fling it about or offend it in anyway, and place it in a safe place when you go to bed at night (don't just throw it in your dirty clothes pile, which I know you do, because Harry talks).

 **Core:** Size is irrelevant and wood is merely wood without the core of the wand. The core is the glue that connects all three parts into one, powerful and magical whole (4). And while a lot of wandmakers across the globe use a variety of substances or take special requests (in America, they make wands with Sasquatch fur and Chupacabra skin!), Ollivander wands have either unicorn hair, dragon heartstring, or phoenix tailfeathers.

Charlie's wand has unicorn hair, which means I have both good news and bad news for you. The good news is that unicorn hair is often the most consistent of the cores, which means it can't possibly get worse, and we know what to expect, because it will be consistently dangerous. The bad news is that, like ash, it is very loyal to its original owner. Again, if your parents hadn't tried to pass Charlie's wand off to you and you'd broken your own ash and unicorn wand, you might have a little more luck. Furthermore, if damaged too severely, unicorn wands may actually become depressed and 'die,' as Ollivander puts it. My advice would be the same as what I gave you with the wood–treat the wand nice, try to give it a reason not to be depressed, and expect to send someone to hospital from time to time.

Of course, my ultimate advice would be for you to tell your parents you broke your wand and get a new one. I just know they'd set some money aside to take you to Diagon Alley for a new one (you may even be able to get out of lessons for a day to replace it). I understand that you think they don't care for you or that they overlook you, but you have to know that's not true. Even when they're angry with you, Ron, your Mum and Dad love you. So, stop being a prat and ask for a new wand!

* * *

1\. Barrymore Bromstead, _Which Stick to Stick With? A Wand Fanatic's Guide._ 1923, Jitterbug Publishing, Edinburgh.

2\. Garrick Ollivander, _Writings on Wandlore: Secrets of the Trade_. 1990. The International Magical Tradesman's Journal, V. 332, p. 29-167, Rome.

3\. Cassius Yates, _All Wood is Created Equal_. 1653, Inverness Printing Press, Inverness.

4\. Mykew Gregorovitch, _European Wandlore._ 1991\. The Journal of European Magical Trade, V. 12, p. 23-35, Kiev.

8:54 pm

I _knew_ I shouldn't take notes in my diary and hand it off to Ron to read during supper! It was very stupid of me, but I actually forgot to bring parchment with me to the library (which is uncharacteristic of me, but I had to run from lunch to the library so I could begin reading about wands and it slipped my mind). I took it all down in my diary thinking Ron would just assume it was a notebook. Silly me.

'Did you read my notes?' I asked when we walked together back to the common room. Harry was stopped by Oliver Wood on his way out of the Great Hall for his first impromptu team meeting of the year.

'Yeah.. _._ why did you reference something you wrote for me?'

'Because Professor McGonagall said next year they expect us to cite everything and I want to get in the habit of it. I even did it New Salem Style,' I explained. 'But nevermind that. What do you think of my advice?'

'It's not very helpful, is it?' Ron said with a scowl. 'All you say is to treat the wand with respect and expect bad things to happen.'

' _And_ to not put as much power behind your spells,' I added.

'Yeah, I don't think I have a problem with that anyway. And I wish you'd stop harping on me about my parents getting me a new wand. You don't understand what it's like in my family, so stop assuming you know what they'll do for me.'

Ron was in a testy mood. I would have felt bad, but I'll never regret trying to make Ron think better of his family.

'Oh, and I do think it would be a good idea to approach Colin about Harry, though don't drag me into it, because the kid drives me nutters.'

I stopped walking and cocked my head. 'How do you know about that plan? I haven't even brought it up to you yet.'

'I read it in your diary,' he shrugged.

My jaw dropped. 'That-no, you couldn't have-I…You weren't supposed to realise that was my diary!'

Ron grinned mischievously and the resemblance between him, Fred, and George was all at once uncanny. 'You mean you thought I wouldn't notice the thing you're writing in constantly and that says, 'Diary' across the front in golden letters is, in fact, your diary?'

'Well you weren't supposed to read it!' I said. My face was hot and suddenly I remembered the very gushy, 'we're best friends' bit I wrote the other day.

'You handed it to me and said, 'Here, Ron. Read this.' You never specified what pages!'

I began to walk faster, clutching my returned diary tight against my chest. I hate that Ron has such a wide gate–he was able to keep up with no problem.

'I do think you're going to easy on Lockhart, though I honestly expect that, since you've got such a crush on him.'

'I do not! I'm _twelve_ , Ron. Twelve year olds don't feel those sorts of things. I just...esteem him.'

Ron snickered.

We were quiet for a couple of staircases and were just reaching the seventh floor corridor when he said, 'Oh, and by the way, you're one of my best friends too. I would say best friend, but you know I have a soft spot for Harry.'

I buried my face under one of my hands and sprinted for the common room.

Never again, diary. NEVER. AGAIN.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Today's second chapter posted! Hermione learns all about magical bigotry and gets a new idea for Ron's wand. Let me know what you think by reviewing/following/favoriting. I do not own these characters or this story-J.K. Rowling does._

* * *

7 September 1992: Monday

Professor Flitwick was back in class today, out of the hospital with just the hint of a curse scar from the boil Ron caused. Today we practised the _Incendio_ charm, which is similar to my bluebell flames, though it's used when you want to start a more substantial flame on top of kindling. We covered it a little last year, but you would be surprised at how few of us remembered how to do it. Luckily, Professor Flitwick put us into pairs to work for the entirety of class.

'Mr. Weasley, let's see.' Flitwick looked around at the remaining students when he reached Ron and frowned. He regarded Ron's Spellotaped wand as if it were a dangerous creature bent on lashing out at any moment. 'Why don't you work by yourself in the corner over there…far away.'

Ron, who had been glancing anxiously at both me and Harry as if willing Flitwick to read his mind and choose one of us as his partner, frowned, gathered up his book and wand, and moved to his corner of the room.

I was beyond grateful when Professor Flitwick selected Harry to work with me. I think we both wanted to avoid partnering Ron (for fear of injury), but he honestly wouldn't be the worst to work with. I kept imagining working with Lavender, who spent the whole class doodling in her notebook. Or worse, a repeat of the Seamus Finnigan incident of last year. Harry gave me a grin when we were paired, took up his wand, and went to work with all the diligence I asked of him. Well, almost.

'Are you still mad at us?' he asked after trying the spell a few times.

I shrugged. 'For the flying car? Not really. Mrs. Weasley did a good job of shaming you two, and I think Professor McGonagall gave a fair punishment.'

'Fairer than Snape would have given us,' Harry conceded. Apparently, Professor Snape vied to get both Harry and Ron expelled on the night of the Start of Term Feast. That's at least what they tell me. Personally, after learning about Snape trying to save Harry all last year from Quirrell, I don't think he'd really want to expel them. I think he's much nicer than he lets on.

Of course, I didn't dare say that to Harry. Instead, I pointed my wand at the small scraps of shredded parchment we were using as kindling. ' _Incendio!'_ I said with a slight jab, watching as flame burst from my wand and ignited the scraps.

'Nice,' Harry said.

'Thank you. _Finite incantatum!'_ The fire instantly ceased and I grinned at my handiwork.

'I feel bad for Ron, though,' Harry continued. 'Do you think he'd let me order him a wand?'

I frowned and shook my head. 'I don't think Ollivander's does mail order for wands. How else would the wand choose him?'

'I hadn't considered that,' Harry said. He jabbed his wand at the kindling too hard, said the incantation, and scorched the surface of our desk. I told him to try it a little gentler, but he ignored me. 'He'd probably say no anyway. I don't think Ron likes charity. Still–I feel responsible, somehow. And now he's getting bad marks and has to work alone and everything.'

Harry chanced a glance at Ron. In the corner, Ron's wand was shooting black smoke from its tip, shrouding him in a disgusting cloud that left him hacking and wheezing. I watched Harry with a small smile. Though he's sometimes frustrating–he always puts off his homework until the last second and anytime I argue with Ron, he chooses his side–I couldn't help but marvel at his good heart. Harry has so much going for him. He's rich and famous, he's a decent enough wizard when he actually listens in class, and at 12 years old, he's probably the best Quidditch player in the whole school. Yet he spends all his time with Ron, one of the poorest people we know, and me. You know how peculiar I am–all I care about is studying and books.

Harry didn't notice me marvelling at him. Instead, still frowning, he gave a slight jab at the kindling and said, ' _Incendio!'_ Flames similar to those that issued forth from my wand only moments before ignited the kindling. Five points for Gryffindor.

9 September 1992: Wednesday

7:02 pm

Remember how I said I didn't think Snape was as bad a person as he pretends? Today he proved me wrong.

As you know, every Wednesday we have Double Potions. So far, it's been difficult enjoying the class. Part of that is because the Gryffindor schedule is extensive, and Double Potions pushes back our daily schedule, meaning we don't get out of Defence until fifteen minutes before supper. By 5:45, even I'm exhausted and ready to be anywhere else other than a classroom.

But, of course, Double Potions is also made difficult by of our instructor.

Usually Professor Snape is content to bully Harry and leave most of the rest of us be. I don't know why, but he absolutely despises him, despite working against Quirrell all last year to defend the Philosopher's Stone and trying to save Harry when Quirrell tried to kill him during the Gryffindor/Slytherin quidditch match. But Harry is rich and famous and most of the school loves him. Snape dislikes that and takes out his frustration on him. It's maddening, but Harry has become rather adept at ignoring him and brushing off his cruelty. Unlike many other 12-year olds, he's adaptable, mature, and not easily baited.

Snape also focuses a lot of energy on making Neville's life miserable. Again, I can't be sure why. I suppose he's an easy target? Neville doesn't exactly exude confidence. He invites bullying from his own dorm-mates, let alone the meanest professor in the school.

That's no excuse, of course, and that's what I thought when Professor Snape began grilling Neville on proper brewing of the Babbling Beverage, which causes the drinker to babble incoherently. I flipped through my copy of _Magical Drafts and Potions_ and frowned. I'd read about the Babbling Beverage, but only because I've read the book about fifteen times cover-to-cover. Within seconds, I'd located the potion under the section of the book labelled, 'Year Four.'

We were only on the topic, because Snape mentioned how useful Erumpant tongue was in various potions and mentioned the Babbling Beverage. Neville, curious, simply asked what the Babbling Beverage was, and that was all the ammunition Snape required.

'When, do you think, is the proper time to add leech juice?' Snape sneered at a shaking Neville.

'I-I don't know, sir. I don't know what it is.'

'Then why ask?'

'Please, Professor!' I interrupted, unable to handle it anymore. 'According to our book, we don't cover this until fourth year!'

'And your point is?' he asked in a bored, drawling voice.

'Why berate Neville when he was just showing you a genuine interest in the topic?'

Snape slowly made his way from Neville's cauldron to mine. He towered above me, his dark eyes glaring out from behind his hooked nose. His posture was threatening and cold. Somewhere nearby, I could feel Harry's glare of distaste and hear Ron gulp.

'You dare to question my teaching methods, Miss Granger?'

My heart pounded and I wanted to retreat. It would have been so easy to flinch or falter, but I didn't. I'm getting better at this bravery thing, honestly. I sat tall, jutted my jaw, and stared him dead in the eyes. 'I think Neville was just being curious and curiosity should be rewarded, not punished.'

From across the table, Ron's wand shot out a shower of sparks.

Snape ignored Ron, who apologized to Harry for burning his garlic. Instead, he leaned down to look me straight in the face. 'You're excused, Miss Granger.'

'I'm sorry?'

'I refuse to have your impudence in my classroom today, so you can spend your afternoon elsewhere with poor marks.'

I was fuming, but I didn't want to risk detention. Standing up, I packed my things and made for the exit, ignoring Draco Malfoy's giggles as I passed by.

'Oh, and Miss Granger?' Snape said as I reached the door. 'Fifteen points from Gryffindor.'

Never in my life have I gotten a poor mark, even in Potions. At dinner, Harry, Ron, and Neville were going on and on about how great it was to see me stand up to Snape. But if it was so great, why do I feel so badly?

11 September 1992: Friday

I'm really looking forward to this weekend. I have one less class this year than last, and yet, our schedule is wearing me out. I think it's because we have the majority of the work built up midweek, and it's not as spaced out. It's not something I can't get used to, obviously, but it is something that's going to be difficult working with. I have a hard enough time getting Harry and Ron to study on our weekends, let alone on a Tuesday night.

Harry's worried about how our schedule will affect his Quidditch practise. 'I can't have Wood adjusting our regular sessions just because I'm in class until 5:45 on Wednesdays!' he groaned. I honestly don't see why not–Harry's Gryffindor's biggest asset. Surely he can be accommodated?

But he swears that if Wood were to make an exception for Harry, he'd have to make time for everyone else.

Meanwhile, Ron's wand is still a danger to everyone, and I still haven't started on my Herbology Classification Worksheet ( _Identify and map out as many magical plant species residing on the Hogwarts grounds_ ) due on Tuesday. It's too dark to start now.

I'll have to make time for it tomorrow.

12 September 1992: Saturday

7:03 am

Up early today. I think I'll work on my Herbology until the boys wake. I'll at least write down the magical plant species I can spot on the grounds from the window. I can get the rest later on in the day. I know Ron was really interested in going down to the Quidditch pitch to watch Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team practise, so that will be a good time to finish. Maybe I can actually get Ron and Harry to finish their work afterward?

9:45 am

Ron came downstairs in a rush at 8:45, his red hair almost as wild as Harry's. 'Why didn't you wake me?' he asked.

I shrugged. 'I guess I didn't want to disturb you? It's Saturday, Ron, we're not late for anything.'

'Harry's already at practice! We're missing it!'

I frowned. How had I missed Harry coming down the staircase with his broom in tow? Did he wake up before me? Or was I really that engrossed in my homework?

As I packed up my Herbology worksheet, book, quill, and ink as quickly as I could, Ron tapped his foot and checked his watch as if he was late for a dire appointment instead of a typical Saturday Quidditch practice. I urged him to get his Herbology worksheet, but the glare he gave me was absolutely menacing, so I left it at that.

We first stopped in the Great Hall to grab some toast, and then made a beeline for the stadium as soon as we were outside. My head twisted all around us. I was trying to count the magical plants I saw, but Ron walked so fast that I could hardly keep up and get my thoughts collected. 'Can we slow down, please?' I asked.

'Nope,' he said. 'I want to see how the team is doing this year–if they're still practising, of course.'

I rolled my eyes. 'It's the same team!'

For all Ron's rush, I was a little surprised when we climbed up in the stands to see the field and sky completely empty. 'They're probably already changing out of their Quidditch uniforms,' Ron said with a sigh.

'There'll be more practices to watch,' I said, plopping down and checking my watch. How had we made it to the stadium in only 15 minutes?

That seemed to cheer Ron up, and he spent the next few minutes explaining all about the new Beater moves that Fred and George worked on all summer. 'They practise at home?' I asked.

'Well, we have to stay low so Muggles don't see, but yeah.'

'You play too?'

'Sure, we all do,' Ron said through a mouthful of toast. 'Someone has to be the Keeper.'

I sat for a few minutes, trying to figure out the logistics of an impromptu Quidditch match at home. 'Who's Seeker?'

'Nobody,' Ron said. 'Not enough of us home right now. We usually alternate Beaters. Fred will be Beater one match, while George will be a Chaser, and then they switch. Ginny plays Chaser always, because she's bloody brilliant, and I always play as Keeper. So, when George and Ginny both play Chaser, they're playing against each other–first one to 150 points wins. Fred's just there to get in the way, and I'm there to stop everyone. It's fun.'

I grinned–Weasley Quidditch actually _does_ sound fun, though I'd never play. 'What about when Bill and Charlie are home?'

'Bill doesn't play too often–he's an excellent Keeper, like me, but he always lets me play. And Charlie is obviously a Seeker. He'll play for one Chaser for five minutes, and then switch off for the other Chaser for five minutes. Whoever he catches the Snitch for wins.'

Ron's gone silent since, too absorbed in his toast and watching the Gryffindor locker room like a hawk. We've been waiting out here a long time now, and I'm starting to wonder if Harry even went to practice this morning.

Oh wait…here they come.

7:58 pm

Harry and Ron have both gone to their detentions for flying the car into the Whomping Willow, so I'm left all by myself tonight. I feel a little bad, especially for Ron. Harry has it easy—all he's doing is helping Professor Lockhart answer some of his fan mail (which actually sounds fun to me, but Harry seems to despise Lockhart). Meanwhile Ron, who has been ill most of the day, is helping Filch polish trophies in the school trophy room. Physical labour, especially when sick and used to having everything done by magic, seems so much harder.

But I don't feel _that_ bad. Ron and Harry did bring this on themselves. If they only had the presence of mind in the moment to wait for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to come back for them through the barrier, they wouldn't have to serve detention. Anyway, after tonight, they won't have any more punishments to answer to.

The moment the Gryffindor team came out of the dressing rooms—still in their Quidditch gear, which instantly tipped me off that they hadn't even started practice—the day became hectic. Ron shouted out to them, 'Aren't you finished yet?' and Harry replied that Wood had been going over new moves with them in the locker room.

I huffed—part of me hoped all the Quidditch for the day would be done. Next to me, Ron sat up straighter, an excited grin tugging his lips.

Colin Creevey settled himself nearby and pulled his camera from his bag. I smiled. It's annoying to Harry that Colin constantly wants pictures of him, but like I said last week, I can understand his excitement. Didn't I spend a lot of time last year documenting the magical world in my diary? Don't I still? He's choosing to take pictures to share with his Muggle family—what's so wrong with that?

Oliver Wood looked up at the stands, pointing to Colin and saying something incoherently to Harry.

'Oi!' Ron called down the stands to him. 'Knock it off!'

'Oh, are you talking to me?' Colin asked after a couple more pictures.

'Yes, I'm talking to you! Who else would I be bloody talking about?'

Colin looked down at his camera. 'Sorry—I just wanted to get some pictures for my brother. He read all about Hogwarts this summer when I was accepted and he wants to come here too.'

A new group of people marched onto the field, each holding the same sleek broomstick in their clutches. They weren't Gryffindors—the slicked back platinum blonde in their midst told me otherwise.

'Ron,' I said.

Ron ignored me. 'Yes, but he doesn't need a picture of _everything_ , does he? This is just a Quidditch practice. It's really not a big deal.'

 _You weren't saying that an hour ago when you realised I hadn't woken you_ , I thought with a scowl. 'Ron…'

'That's true. Should I save my pictures for the first match, then? I mean, I am running out of film.'

'Of course! Save your film for the truly spectacular stuff—what Hermione?!'

I was actually shaking his arm now to get his attention. 'Why are the Slytherins on the pitch?'

Ron's head flicked to stare down at the grass below. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were facing off, Wood holding some sort of parchment in his hand and staring incredulously at the Slytherin team captain, Marcus Flint.

'Oh, bloody hell,' Ron moaned. He stood up and climbed down the seats, striding out onto the pitch. I followed, but I wasn't sure what good it would do us to confront the Slytherins as well. From behind me, I heard Colin scamper to his feet, no doubt hoping that now was one of those spectacular moments Ron had been talking about.

'What's happening?' Ron asked as soon as we got within hearing distance of both teams.

Draco Malfoy, standing in pristine Slytherin Quidditch gear drew himself up to face Ron, who is at least four inches taller than him. 'I'm the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley. Everyone's just been admiring the new brooms my father bought our team.'

I've since learned that the shiny brooms shouldered by the Slytherins are Nimbus 2001s, the newest Nimbus model. I think Harry may be jealous—last year, he had the best broom in the school, but now there are at least seven better than his.

'Good, aren't they?' Malfoy wheedled us for agreement. He made some sort of remark about how Gryffindor may be able to auction off their brooms for new ones and even pointed to Fred and George's Cleansweep Fives, saying, 'I expect a museum would bid for them.'

I don't know why I did it. I've never been particularly protective of Fred and George—they seem to know how to take care of themselves—but Malfoy's words irritated me beyond reason. Before I had a moment to think about what I was doing, I stepped forward and said, 'At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent.'

Malfoy's smug smile faltered and he sneered as he looked me up and down. 'No one asked for your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood.'

I didn't exactly understand the insult, but I knew at once that it was meant to injure me. Fred and George both dropped their brooms and lunged toward Draco, their faces no longer impassive, but infuriated. Marcus Flint jumped in between them and Malfoy. Nearby, Alicia Spinnet thundered, 'How dare you?!'

Next to me, Ron whipped out his broken wand from the depths of his robes and shouted, 'You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!'

But before an incantation could be uttered, the wand emitted a horrible bang and everyone covered their ears instinctively as Ron went flying backward, sprawling in the grass.

 _Now he's done it. The wand's killed him_.

I rushed to his side as quickly as I could. 'Ron! Ron! Are you all right?!'

Ron's face was almost green with illness, and he opened his mouth to speak. Instead of words, giant slugs poured from his lips and fell in a slimy trail down his chest and into his lap.

My stomach churned and the Slytherins hooted with malicious laughter. All the Gryffindors gathered around. Alicia and Angelina Johnson wrinkled their noses, and Oliver Wood paced back and forth, trying to think of a counteractive spell. Fred and George, interestingly, just watched with curious frowns. 'How did he do that?' Fred asked George.

'Does it matter?' I snapped as Ron belched out more slugs.

'We better get him to Hagrid's,' Harry finally decided, giving me a look that clearly told me I was going to help. 'It's closest.'

We both grabbed Ron under his armpits, lifting him between us and avoiding the slimy slugs pooling at our feet. Colin Creevey traipsed up, sprinting to get in front of us, his camera poised.

'What happened, Harry? Is he ill? But you can still cure him, can't you?' Ron burped again, more slugs tumbling to the ground. 'Oh…fascinating! Can you hold him still, Harry?'

'Out of the way, Colin!' Harry growled in a voice I've never heard him use. He'd reached the end of his tether. I must admit, though Ron told Colin to capture the truly fascinating stuff (and someone belching out slugs is, I admit, fascinating enough), Colin should have seen we were worried and desperately trying to get Ron someplace safe. It was bad timing.

We had to wait when we reached Hagrid's, Ron moaning angrily as we hid behind a bush from Professor Lockhart, who was leaving and promising to send over a signed copy of a book for Hagrid. It seemed nice to me, but Harry rolled his eyes and Ron scowled, though that might have been from the slugs.

According to Hagrid, Professor Lockhart was advising him on how to remove kelpies from a well. It rubbed him the wrong way, I suppose, because he started to claim that Lockhart seems phony to him—that he didn't actually banish the Bandon banshee.

'I think you're being unfair,' I said with a frown as Ron coughed up slugs into a large wooden bucket next to me. 'Professor Dumbledore obviously thought he was the best man for the job–'

'He was the on'y man fer the job! Gettin' very difficult ter find anyone fer the Dark Arts job.'

I frowned. Is that true? Did Professor Lockhart only get his position because there was nobody else willing to take it?

I honestly don't care what Hagrid or anyone thinks. Gilderoy Lockhart has done a lot of marvellous things in his career as a wizard. And if the Dark Arts job is truly cursed, I think it brave that he alone was willing to tackle it.

Eventually, we got on the topic of Ron and the slugs and Harry explained that Malfoy called me some sort of bad name. 'It _was_ bad,' Ron said into the bucket, finally able to get a few words in. 'Malfoy called her, 'Mudblood.''

'He didn'!' Hagrid said, his mouth open wide with shock.

'He did,' I said. 'But I don't know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course.'

'It's about the most insulting thing he could think of,' Ron said, sitting up straight and wiping his slimy chin. 'Mudblood's a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born. There are some wizards—like Malfoy's family—who think they're better than everyone else because they're what people call pure-blood. The rest of us know it doesn't make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom—he's pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.'

'An' they haven't invented a spell our Hermione can' do,' Hagrid agreed.

I frowned—I didn't like Neville being insulted in such a way, but I understood what Ron and Hagrid were trying to say. Mudblood is apparently an insult thrown without any credence. Clearly Draco Malfoy has convinced himself because of my Muggle parents, I have dirty blood. I know better, and so do my friends, and that's all that matters.

We stayed at Hagrid's only a little while longer—long enough for Hagrid to tell Harry off for giving out signed photographs of himself (and asking why he hadn't gotten any) and to show us that he'd been using an engorgement charm on this year's pumpkin patch. Hagrid's not really allowed to do magic, having been expelled in his third year at Hogwarts, but somehow, he's able to harness the power of his old and broken wand and still do simple spells.

Which got me thinking—if Hagrid was able to fix up his wand to hide in a pink umbrella, why can't Ron do the same with his? I mean, I don't expect him to hide it in an object, but surely there's a way to repair the damage somehow? We can't let him go the whole year with his wand giving professors boils and curse scars and backfiring on him.

Unless Ron truly likes burping up slugs…


End file.
